Fic: “Fear, Itself,” ST:XI/Doom, McCoy(Reaper)/Chekov, Kirk/Spock, R
It’s been over a year since I updated this, and I’m duly ashamed. An ST:XI/Doom crossover, written per 
vinniebatman's prompts,. The awesomeness of this idea is all hers. I'm just filling in the little details to the best of my ability. Previous parts can be found here.
Fear, Itself (4/?)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: ST:XI/Doom
Pairing: Eventually McCoy/Chekov, Spock/Kirk, but other pairings, as well.
Rating: R, so far
Word Count: Approx. 2800
Notes/Warnings: Set post-ST:XI by three years. Spoilers for ST:XI and for Doom. Violence. Minor character death.
Summary: The crew gets more than they bargained for on Leave.
At the mouth of the alley, Sulu goes in low, expecting-God only knows what-and finds himself face to face with . . . a miniature V’Plenniak.
It literally only comes up to Sulu’s sternum.
It’s chittering fearfully, squinting up at Sulu with anxious gold eyes which tick from Sulu’s face to his phaser. It holds up its hands in the universal sign of please-don’t-shoot-me.
Well, it obviously recognizes a weapon when it sees one.
Similarly, it obviously isn’t some kind of insurgent or secret agent responsible for the disappearance of a sizeable portion of the Enterprise crew. In fact, judging from its size and the otter-brown color of its un-dyed fur, it’s just a kid. An impoverished one, also judging from its complete lack of gold jewelry.
Sulu glances back at the security detail that’d followed him to the mouth of the alley. Their weapons are still trained on the kid, but they look more confused than menacing.
Well, at least I’m not the only one, Sulu thinks tiredly, turning back to the kid, who once more shrinks away, tears filling its huge, frightened eyes.
“Hey-hey, it’s okay . . . I’m not gonna hurt ya-“ Sulu begins, glancing over his shoulder again, about to call Uhura. But that’s exactly when the V’Plenniak kid makes a strange keening sound.
That, of course, snags everyone’s attention.
Uhura’s the first to hurry over, looking concerned. But she shoulders right past the security detail and Sulu, to the V’Plenniak kid. Holding out her hands in a non-threatening manner, she says something in its language, like the comforting churr of a contented tribble.
The kid’s dark-gold eyes tick to Sulu and the other Humans, then back to Uhura, who smiles, careful not to show her teeth. “What did the mean Captain do to frighten you so bad?”
“Me?” Sulu scoffs, and Uhura hushes him.
“Poor little thing. You gave him the scare of his life.”
“That poor little thing’s lucky he didn’t get a phaser-blast in the face! I thought he was some kinda-I don’t even know!” Sulu throws up his hands, and the V’Plenniak kid quails, tears welling up in its eyes once more.
“Will you stop frightening him? He might know something,” Uhura chastises, as if Sulu might not have already thought of that. He sighs irritably.
“Yes, I know he might know something, Lieutenant, and I’m trying to be as non-threatening as possible.”
Uhura sniffs. “Well. It’s not working. Just put away your phaser. You’ve already made him nervous,” she murmurs, kneeling so she’s eye-to-eye with the kid, who takes a cautious step closer.
“I made him nervous?” Sulu snorts, but holsters his phaser. “Ask him what he’s doing skulking around and following us.”
Uhura nods and speaks to the kid in that same churring voice. The kid’s eyes tick to Sulu and the other Humans, then back to Uhura, one tear leaking out to dampen its fur. He says something hesitantly, his chitters barely above a whisper.
When the kid finishes speaking, the V’Plenniak peacekeepers start murmuring among themselves and Uhura looks up at Sulu.
“He says he was curious because we don’t act like the other aliens he’s seen today. We aren’t jumping at our own shadows and no one is chasing us.”
Eyes narrowing, Sulu pins the kid with his gaze, and the kid flinches back again. “Ask him if he knows who was doing the chasing and where the other, uh, aliens were being chased to.”
Uhura nods again, and gets the kid’s attention by cooing at him almost tenderly. The kid looks at her and swallows.
What follows is an exchange-calm and friendly on Uhura’s part, and hesitant and nervous on the kid’s. He keeps worrying at his lower lip with small, flat teeth and wringing his little paws. Uhura mouths to herself each and every bit of chitter-chatter the kid says.
After a few minutes, she sighs. “Oh, you’re just a baby, aren’t you? Too young to be out here on your own. . . .”
“What’d he say?” Sulu asks grimly. Uhura looks up at him again and takes a deep breath.
“He says he’s been seeing aliens running around for most of the afternoon, looking as if they were being chased by demons. And they were being chased, but by V’Plenniak. According to him, the V’Plenniak doing the chasing have been hanging around the Old Warehouse District for days, intimidating people and chasing away the usual . . . low characters that can be found there. He says that since these new V’Plenniak canme along, there’s been much less crime, and many of the indigent, but honest citizens who make their homes here feel safer, though they fear their new neighbors enough to leave them well alone. Especially when those new neighbors go alien-hunting. He says that. . . .” Uhura lips twitch a little. “He says that he’s the only one brave enough to follow them around and keep an eye on them. He doesn’t like them, and thinks they’re up to low acts that are far worse than anything the gangs and grifters ever got up to.
“He also says that he was following some of his new neighbors around today, and that they were carrying two aliens, both unconscious. That they went to a warehouse not too far from here . . . and before they closed the loading door, he could see dozens of aliens inside. But before he could get any closer, he says someone started shooting at him, and he ran.”
Uhura turns to the V'Plenniak kid, who’s pointing back the way he came, his otter-brown fur standing on end as he squeaks out something else. Uhura listens for a minute, then goes ashen under her complexion. Behind Sulu, the V’Plenniak peacekeepers mutter and shuffle, drawing their weapons.
“Captain, he’s saying that when they started shooting at him, he ran and ran back the way he came, and that he was so scared he wasn’t looking, and he tripped over something and fell.
“What he tripped over was an arm. And there were other body parts scattered back along the route he followed. He recognized some of the pieces as belonging to some of his new neighbors.” Uhura falls silent for a few moments then she reaches out and puts her hand on the kid’s arm. He doesn’t flinch or pull away, but makes a high, anxious sound in his throat, glancing behind him. Then he starts chittering some more in a frightened half-whisper. Uhura immediately starts translating, without waiting for the kid to finish.
“The body parts are not far from here. Neither is the warehouse where the aliens were being kept.” Uhura interrupts him, gesturing at her own face and body. The kid pauses, his eyes darting between her and Sulu then shakes his head, which causes Uhura to heave a relieved sigh.
“None of the body parts are Human, Captain.”
“And that, at least, is something.” Sulu smiles, tight and mirthless. “Ask him his name.”
“It’s Radu,” she says immediately, and the kid looks between them both, nodding.
“Rrrrradu,” he corrects, growling the R ostentatiously. He’s still wringing his hands, but he’s stopped biting his lip and crying.
Sulu kneels, too, and looks the kid in the eye. “Radu, can you take us back to the warehouse where the aliens were?”
“I can take you back the same way I came,” is the reply Uhura translates, then pauses. “I don’t want to be ripped to pieces, though.”
Sulu’s smile turns almost wry. “Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to you. But you have to stay close to us and be quiet when we tell you to.”
When Uhura finishes churring, Radu nods again and licks his lips.
Sulu and Uhura stand, Uhura taking Radu’s hand in her own. The kid immediately latches onto her, placing his other hand on her arm just as any other child would with an adult it trusts.
Glancing at his security team and the V’Plenniak peacekeepers, Sulu unholsters his phaser and nods.
“Take us there, Radu,” he says, and the kid doesn’t even wait for the translation before he’s pointing south. The V’Plenniak peacekeepers take the lead, and Sulu and his security team bring up the rear, moving into the alley cautiously.
Safe-hopefully-in their midst, Uhura and Radu, hand in hand, give directions that lead them all deeper into the District.
*
The screams continue as Spock listens with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
And they’re getting steadily closer, as if whoever-or whatever-it is that is seemingly working its way through the renegade V’Plenniak is purposely making its way toward the captured crewmembers.
Spock doesn’t know whether to be hopeful or fearful, and his confused emotions are clouding his rational thought beyond uselessness. His mind rockets back and forth between worry for Jim and worry for himself, as well as his usual keen curiosity to know . . . know what is wreaking such havoc in what seems to be a clear effort to reach the crew.
And does it mean them well, or ill. . . ?
Sighing as he leans forward in preparation to stand, Spock will meet it-whatever it is-on his feet.
And it’s just as he finally, after several nauseating, dizzying tries and jarring near-falls, gains his feet that the screams outside begin to taper and dwindle, until one final scream is cut off with blood-curdling finality.
Looking around himself at the crew-only a few appear to be cogent, and even those few don’t seem to quite understand where they are or what’s going on-and then up at their remaining captors-who look entirely spooked and ready to bolt, something that gives Spock heart, though he doubts he’d be able to muster more than three or four crewmembers to aid him in anything approaching an uprising and escape-he surveys the room for anything that might be used as a distraction, should one become necessary.
The space is barren of everything but crewmembers in various states of mental disarray.
Another glance up at their frozen captors, who seem to be good for nothing at the moment but staring around at each other in obvious confusion and terror, shows that any attempt to wrest a weapon from such a nervous, trigger-happy lot would likely result in Spock’s death, whether accidental or on purpose.
Suddenly there’s a loud, hollow boom on the metal door, like the knocking of a giant who’s demanding entrance.
It’s immediately followed by another.
And another.
And by the fourth blow, the V’Plenniak captors have regained some of their sense of purpose, one of them barking hoarse orders that the others jump to obey. Some form ranks on the walkway overlooking the main floor while others, with Herculean leaps, jump to the main floor, landing almost silently among the captured crewmembers. Most of them barely notice, and the few that do let out frightened screams and whimpers.
Suddenly-though not unexpectedly, Spock is grabbed from behind, one furry hand closing around his throat, the other jamming what’s most likely a pistol into his back. Half-angry, half-anxious growling words that Spock doesn’t understand are hissed just before Spock is shoved forward.
Knowing that attempting to reason without a common language is worse than pointless, but possibly lethal, Spock walks forward, stepping carefully, unsteadily over Lieutenant Tormalen. Toward the door, and the determined, ominous booms that rock it in its frame. And if Spock’s concussion-blurred vision isn’t wrong, there’s a double convexity forming high up in the door.
Sharpish, retractable nails bite into Spock’s neck and yet more angry, anxious hissing comes from his captor. The pistol is wedged more firmly into the small of Spock’s back. Spock takes that to mean stop, and does so, several feet from the door.
After another minute of booming, the door begins to creak on hinges and that double convexity is deepening inward. From behind Spock come the pitiful sounds of the terrorized crewmembers and the fearful, nervous chitter-growls of the kidnappers. All is quiet chaos, but for that portentious boom-boom-boom-
And just as suddenly as the booming had started, it stops.
From out of the silence behind the door comes a low sound that builds so slowly, Spock doesn’t even realize it’s a growl, at first. Then the blows start up again, this time on the frame of the door, rattling hinges and making them scream, cracking the brick wall to the left side of the door, and bowing the actual frame-which also appears to be solid, though rusting metal-inward.
Whatever is out there, Spock realizes with a spike of curiosity that’s almost as keen as his fear, wants to get in very badly.
And from the high, creaking scream of metal and the rust-red showers of brick-dust from the wall, it’s about to get what it wants.
Indeed, as if realizing this at the same moment, the V’Plenniak holding Spock backs them up a few feet. With not a moment to spare, it turns out, for with one more of those high, whining screams, the top left of the frame buckles, and hinges tear free of it.
With another growl, whatever’s behind the door batters it with one final boom, and the bottom hinge gives. A second later the door teeters inward, then topples, hitting the dirty floor with a resounding clank, its top edge landing not ten inches away from Spock’s hastily snatched back form.
A huge puff of dust and detritus is sent up that makes Spock and his captor cough-though the latter never lets the pistol waver-and from behind them both comes the sound of pistols being readied and more orders being barked.
Between the dust and the back-lighting of the setting sun, Spock can barely make out a humanoid figure, tall and standing with head down and dripping, somewhat misshapen fists clenched at its sides (with a wince, Spock realizes the humanoid had battered the door down with nothing more than its fists and its rage).
He can hear its heavy, but measured breathing even over the beating of his own heart.
“Where is he?” It growls quietly, in an almost recognizable voice. Just then projectile weapons open fire from behind Spock and his captor.
Spock gets shoved to the ground-his temple glancing agonizingly off an edge of the door-and the V’Plenniak that had been holding him also starts firing into the settling dust cloud.
But the humanoid is gone. And so is Spock, consciousness failing him in a bright, hot flash of agony that’s soon consumed by cool, gentle darkness.
*
They encounter the first of the body parts within minutes of tracing the kid’s route through the maze-like warren of the District. And sure enough, they’re V’Plenniak body parts.
The multicolored, furry limbs are still relatively warm, and don’t look as if they’ve been cut off, but rather as if they’ve been ripped off. Grisly knobs of bone shine in the sunset, and the red of blood splatters seems all the more lurid for the bright, orange-red light.
Sulu doesn’t know what to make of it. The V’Plenniak are almost as strong as Vulcans, which makes them vastly stronger than Humans. The only thing that could have quite literally rent more than one V’Plenniak limb from limb is another V’Plenniak.
Or a Vulcan.
And apparently Uhura’s had the same thought, because she glances back at Sulu and mouths Spock?
Sulu shrugs slightly. It makes sense that Spock might have lost the customary cool he usually displays, when confronted by the would-be kidnappers. Hell, he’s lost it it before-more than once, and with less provocation. But would Spock incapacitate his accosters then take the time to tear them limb from limb?
Sulu doesn’t think so.
What Sulu thinks is that Spock’s first rational thought would be to contact the ship, then proceed-irrationally-on his own to rescue Kirk. However Spock was likely not acting rationally at all, and had simply gone haring off after Kirk.
And yet Spock, even at his most emotionally compromised, has never killed. Only incapacitated.
But the evidence points so strongly at Spock having gone off the deep end, that Sulu decides it’s best to proceed under the assumption that they’re dealing with an emotionally-unstable Vulcan. It’s what Spock, himself, were he thinking rational, would do. And Lord knows this day hasn’t been long on rational think-
Just then, Radu starts chittering excitedly, though quietly.
“We’re almost there, Captain. Radu says it’s two more intersections,” Uhura says, just as quietly.
And indeed, there’ve been more and more V’Plenniak bodies and parts as they’ve gone on. The ground isn’t littered with them, but there are enough dead people that the peacekeepers are starting to get edgy and murmur amongst themselves, clicking the safeties off their weapons.
By the time the party has passed one intersection cautiously-the streets are completely empty of people . . . eerily so-the sudden sound of projectile weapons fire reaches their ears.
Everyone shares brief glances, then the peacekeepers are off and running toward the sound.
“Stay here. I’ll comm you when it’s safe” Sulu tells Uhura, who nods, pulling Radu with her to the shadowed doorway of what looks like an abandoned tenement.
Sulu looks at his team and nods toward the gun-fire.
“Let’s go,” he says.
TBC
vinniebatman's prompts,. The awesomeness of this idea is all hers. I'm just filling in the little details to the best of my ability. Previous parts can be found here.
Fear, Itself (4/?)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: ST:XI/Doom
Pairing: Eventually McCoy/Chekov, Spock/Kirk, but other pairings, as well.
Rating: R, so far
Word Count: Approx. 2800
Notes/Warnings: Set post-ST:XI by three years. Spoilers for ST:XI and for Doom. Violence. Minor character death.
Summary: The crew gets more than they bargained for on Leave.
At the mouth of the alley, Sulu goes in low, expecting-God only knows what-and finds himself face to face with . . . a miniature V’Plenniak.
It literally only comes up to Sulu’s sternum.
It’s chittering fearfully, squinting up at Sulu with anxious gold eyes which tick from Sulu’s face to his phaser. It holds up its hands in the universal sign of please-don’t-shoot-me.
Well, it obviously recognizes a weapon when it sees one.
Similarly, it obviously isn’t some kind of insurgent or secret agent responsible for the disappearance of a sizeable portion of the Enterprise crew. In fact, judging from its size and the otter-brown color of its un-dyed fur, it’s just a kid. An impoverished one, also judging from its complete lack of gold jewelry.
Sulu glances back at the security detail that’d followed him to the mouth of the alley. Their weapons are still trained on the kid, but they look more confused than menacing.
Well, at least I’m not the only one, Sulu thinks tiredly, turning back to the kid, who once more shrinks away, tears filling its huge, frightened eyes.
“Hey-hey, it’s okay . . . I’m not gonna hurt ya-“ Sulu begins, glancing over his shoulder again, about to call Uhura. But that’s exactly when the V’Plenniak kid makes a strange keening sound.
That, of course, snags everyone’s attention.
Uhura’s the first to hurry over, looking concerned. But she shoulders right past the security detail and Sulu, to the V’Plenniak kid. Holding out her hands in a non-threatening manner, she says something in its language, like the comforting churr of a contented tribble.
The kid’s dark-gold eyes tick to Sulu and the other Humans, then back to Uhura, who smiles, careful not to show her teeth. “What did the mean Captain do to frighten you so bad?”
“Me?” Sulu scoffs, and Uhura hushes him.
“Poor little thing. You gave him the scare of his life.”
“That poor little thing’s lucky he didn’t get a phaser-blast in the face! I thought he was some kinda-I don’t even know!” Sulu throws up his hands, and the V’Plenniak kid quails, tears welling up in its eyes once more.
“Will you stop frightening him? He might know something,” Uhura chastises, as if Sulu might not have already thought of that. He sighs irritably.
“Yes, I know he might know something, Lieutenant, and I’m trying to be as non-threatening as possible.”
Uhura sniffs. “Well. It’s not working. Just put away your phaser. You’ve already made him nervous,” she murmurs, kneeling so she’s eye-to-eye with the kid, who takes a cautious step closer.
“I made him nervous?” Sulu snorts, but holsters his phaser. “Ask him what he’s doing skulking around and following us.”
Uhura nods and speaks to the kid in that same churring voice. The kid’s eyes tick to Sulu and the other Humans, then back to Uhura, one tear leaking out to dampen its fur. He says something hesitantly, his chitters barely above a whisper.
When the kid finishes speaking, the V’Plenniak peacekeepers start murmuring among themselves and Uhura looks up at Sulu.
“He says he was curious because we don’t act like the other aliens he’s seen today. We aren’t jumping at our own shadows and no one is chasing us.”
Eyes narrowing, Sulu pins the kid with his gaze, and the kid flinches back again. “Ask him if he knows who was doing the chasing and where the other, uh, aliens were being chased to.”
Uhura nods again, and gets the kid’s attention by cooing at him almost tenderly. The kid looks at her and swallows.
What follows is an exchange-calm and friendly on Uhura’s part, and hesitant and nervous on the kid’s. He keeps worrying at his lower lip with small, flat teeth and wringing his little paws. Uhura mouths to herself each and every bit of chitter-chatter the kid says.
After a few minutes, she sighs. “Oh, you’re just a baby, aren’t you? Too young to be out here on your own. . . .”
“What’d he say?” Sulu asks grimly. Uhura looks up at him again and takes a deep breath.
“He says he’s been seeing aliens running around for most of the afternoon, looking as if they were being chased by demons. And they were being chased, but by V’Plenniak. According to him, the V’Plenniak doing the chasing have been hanging around the Old Warehouse District for days, intimidating people and chasing away the usual . . . low characters that can be found there. He says that since these new V’Plenniak canme along, there’s been much less crime, and many of the indigent, but honest citizens who make their homes here feel safer, though they fear their new neighbors enough to leave them well alone. Especially when those new neighbors go alien-hunting. He says that. . . .” Uhura lips twitch a little. “He says that he’s the only one brave enough to follow them around and keep an eye on them. He doesn’t like them, and thinks they’re up to low acts that are far worse than anything the gangs and grifters ever got up to.
“He also says that he was following some of his new neighbors around today, and that they were carrying two aliens, both unconscious. That they went to a warehouse not too far from here . . . and before they closed the loading door, he could see dozens of aliens inside. But before he could get any closer, he says someone started shooting at him, and he ran.”
Uhura turns to the V'Plenniak kid, who’s pointing back the way he came, his otter-brown fur standing on end as he squeaks out something else. Uhura listens for a minute, then goes ashen under her complexion. Behind Sulu, the V’Plenniak peacekeepers mutter and shuffle, drawing their weapons.
“Captain, he’s saying that when they started shooting at him, he ran and ran back the way he came, and that he was so scared he wasn’t looking, and he tripped over something and fell.
“What he tripped over was an arm. And there were other body parts scattered back along the route he followed. He recognized some of the pieces as belonging to some of his new neighbors.” Uhura falls silent for a few moments then she reaches out and puts her hand on the kid’s arm. He doesn’t flinch or pull away, but makes a high, anxious sound in his throat, glancing behind him. Then he starts chittering some more in a frightened half-whisper. Uhura immediately starts translating, without waiting for the kid to finish.
“The body parts are not far from here. Neither is the warehouse where the aliens were being kept.” Uhura interrupts him, gesturing at her own face and body. The kid pauses, his eyes darting between her and Sulu then shakes his head, which causes Uhura to heave a relieved sigh.
“None of the body parts are Human, Captain.”
“And that, at least, is something.” Sulu smiles, tight and mirthless. “Ask him his name.”
“It’s Radu,” she says immediately, and the kid looks between them both, nodding.
“Rrrrradu,” he corrects, growling the R ostentatiously. He’s still wringing his hands, but he’s stopped biting his lip and crying.
Sulu kneels, too, and looks the kid in the eye. “Radu, can you take us back to the warehouse where the aliens were?”
“I can take you back the same way I came,” is the reply Uhura translates, then pauses. “I don’t want to be ripped to pieces, though.”
Sulu’s smile turns almost wry. “Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to you. But you have to stay close to us and be quiet when we tell you to.”
When Uhura finishes churring, Radu nods again and licks his lips.
Sulu and Uhura stand, Uhura taking Radu’s hand in her own. The kid immediately latches onto her, placing his other hand on her arm just as any other child would with an adult it trusts.
Glancing at his security team and the V’Plenniak peacekeepers, Sulu unholsters his phaser and nods.
“Take us there, Radu,” he says, and the kid doesn’t even wait for the translation before he’s pointing south. The V’Plenniak peacekeepers take the lead, and Sulu and his security team bring up the rear, moving into the alley cautiously.
Safe-hopefully-in their midst, Uhura and Radu, hand in hand, give directions that lead them all deeper into the District.
*
The screams continue as Spock listens with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
And they’re getting steadily closer, as if whoever-or whatever-it is that is seemingly working its way through the renegade V’Plenniak is purposely making its way toward the captured crewmembers.
Spock doesn’t know whether to be hopeful or fearful, and his confused emotions are clouding his rational thought beyond uselessness. His mind rockets back and forth between worry for Jim and worry for himself, as well as his usual keen curiosity to know . . . know what is wreaking such havoc in what seems to be a clear effort to reach the crew.
And does it mean them well, or ill. . . ?
Sighing as he leans forward in preparation to stand, Spock will meet it-whatever it is-on his feet.
And it’s just as he finally, after several nauseating, dizzying tries and jarring near-falls, gains his feet that the screams outside begin to taper and dwindle, until one final scream is cut off with blood-curdling finality.
Looking around himself at the crew-only a few appear to be cogent, and even those few don’t seem to quite understand where they are or what’s going on-and then up at their remaining captors-who look entirely spooked and ready to bolt, something that gives Spock heart, though he doubts he’d be able to muster more than three or four crewmembers to aid him in anything approaching an uprising and escape-he surveys the room for anything that might be used as a distraction, should one become necessary.
The space is barren of everything but crewmembers in various states of mental disarray.
Another glance up at their frozen captors, who seem to be good for nothing at the moment but staring around at each other in obvious confusion and terror, shows that any attempt to wrest a weapon from such a nervous, trigger-happy lot would likely result in Spock’s death, whether accidental or on purpose.
Suddenly there’s a loud, hollow boom on the metal door, like the knocking of a giant who’s demanding entrance.
It’s immediately followed by another.
And another.
And by the fourth blow, the V’Plenniak captors have regained some of their sense of purpose, one of them barking hoarse orders that the others jump to obey. Some form ranks on the walkway overlooking the main floor while others, with Herculean leaps, jump to the main floor, landing almost silently among the captured crewmembers. Most of them barely notice, and the few that do let out frightened screams and whimpers.
Suddenly-though not unexpectedly, Spock is grabbed from behind, one furry hand closing around his throat, the other jamming what’s most likely a pistol into his back. Half-angry, half-anxious growling words that Spock doesn’t understand are hissed just before Spock is shoved forward.
Knowing that attempting to reason without a common language is worse than pointless, but possibly lethal, Spock walks forward, stepping carefully, unsteadily over Lieutenant Tormalen. Toward the door, and the determined, ominous booms that rock it in its frame. And if Spock’s concussion-blurred vision isn’t wrong, there’s a double convexity forming high up in the door.
Sharpish, retractable nails bite into Spock’s neck and yet more angry, anxious hissing comes from his captor. The pistol is wedged more firmly into the small of Spock’s back. Spock takes that to mean stop, and does so, several feet from the door.
After another minute of booming, the door begins to creak on hinges and that double convexity is deepening inward. From behind Spock come the pitiful sounds of the terrorized crewmembers and the fearful, nervous chitter-growls of the kidnappers. All is quiet chaos, but for that portentious boom-boom-boom-
And just as suddenly as the booming had started, it stops.
From out of the silence behind the door comes a low sound that builds so slowly, Spock doesn’t even realize it’s a growl, at first. Then the blows start up again, this time on the frame of the door, rattling hinges and making them scream, cracking the brick wall to the left side of the door, and bowing the actual frame-which also appears to be solid, though rusting metal-inward.
Whatever is out there, Spock realizes with a spike of curiosity that’s almost as keen as his fear, wants to get in very badly.
And from the high, creaking scream of metal and the rust-red showers of brick-dust from the wall, it’s about to get what it wants.
Indeed, as if realizing this at the same moment, the V’Plenniak holding Spock backs them up a few feet. With not a moment to spare, it turns out, for with one more of those high, whining screams, the top left of the frame buckles, and hinges tear free of it.
With another growl, whatever’s behind the door batters it with one final boom, and the bottom hinge gives. A second later the door teeters inward, then topples, hitting the dirty floor with a resounding clank, its top edge landing not ten inches away from Spock’s hastily snatched back form.
A huge puff of dust and detritus is sent up that makes Spock and his captor cough-though the latter never lets the pistol waver-and from behind them both comes the sound of pistols being readied and more orders being barked.
Between the dust and the back-lighting of the setting sun, Spock can barely make out a humanoid figure, tall and standing with head down and dripping, somewhat misshapen fists clenched at its sides (with a wince, Spock realizes the humanoid had battered the door down with nothing more than its fists and its rage).
He can hear its heavy, but measured breathing even over the beating of his own heart.
“Where is he?” It growls quietly, in an almost recognizable voice. Just then projectile weapons open fire from behind Spock and his captor.
Spock gets shoved to the ground-his temple glancing agonizingly off an edge of the door-and the V’Plenniak that had been holding him also starts firing into the settling dust cloud.
But the humanoid is gone. And so is Spock, consciousness failing him in a bright, hot flash of agony that’s soon consumed by cool, gentle darkness.
*
They encounter the first of the body parts within minutes of tracing the kid’s route through the maze-like warren of the District. And sure enough, they’re V’Plenniak body parts.
The multicolored, furry limbs are still relatively warm, and don’t look as if they’ve been cut off, but rather as if they’ve been ripped off. Grisly knobs of bone shine in the sunset, and the red of blood splatters seems all the more lurid for the bright, orange-red light.
Sulu doesn’t know what to make of it. The V’Plenniak are almost as strong as Vulcans, which makes them vastly stronger than Humans. The only thing that could have quite literally rent more than one V’Plenniak limb from limb is another V’Plenniak.
Or a Vulcan.
And apparently Uhura’s had the same thought, because she glances back at Sulu and mouths Spock?
Sulu shrugs slightly. It makes sense that Spock might have lost the customary cool he usually displays, when confronted by the would-be kidnappers. Hell, he’s lost it it before-more than once, and with less provocation. But would Spock incapacitate his accosters then take the time to tear them limb from limb?
Sulu doesn’t think so.
What Sulu thinks is that Spock’s first rational thought would be to contact the ship, then proceed-irrationally-on his own to rescue Kirk. However Spock was likely not acting rationally at all, and had simply gone haring off after Kirk.
And yet Spock, even at his most emotionally compromised, has never killed. Only incapacitated.
But the evidence points so strongly at Spock having gone off the deep end, that Sulu decides it’s best to proceed under the assumption that they’re dealing with an emotionally-unstable Vulcan. It’s what Spock, himself, were he thinking rational, would do. And Lord knows this day hasn’t been long on rational think-
Just then, Radu starts chittering excitedly, though quietly.
“We’re almost there, Captain. Radu says it’s two more intersections,” Uhura says, just as quietly.
And indeed, there’ve been more and more V’Plenniak bodies and parts as they’ve gone on. The ground isn’t littered with them, but there are enough dead people that the peacekeepers are starting to get edgy and murmur amongst themselves, clicking the safeties off their weapons.
By the time the party has passed one intersection cautiously-the streets are completely empty of people . . . eerily so-the sudden sound of projectile weapons fire reaches their ears.
Everyone shares brief glances, then the peacekeepers are off and running toward the sound.
“Stay here. I’ll comm you when it’s safe” Sulu tells Uhura, who nods, pulling Radu with her to the shadowed doorway of what looks like an abandoned tenement.
Sulu looks at his team and nods toward the gun-fire.
“Let’s go,” he says.
TBC